Terminator: Father Dearest
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Protector. Murderer. Father. Across timelines, Model 101 had been all of that to John.


**Father Dearest**

Over thirty years of war, he hadn't seen Model T-101 that much.

In a timeline where Judgement Day had occurred in 1997, and the war ended in 2029, he suspected that it was different. That the John Connor of that time, regardless of how much he'd known, hadn't known so much about the future that Model T-101 was out of circulation. That this wasn't a world where Judgement Day had occurred in 2003, and the war finally ended in 2032. A world where both Skynet and John Connor had operated in the knowledge that history had been altered, that their circumstances were the results of their other selves in other realities, and now, the game had changed. So, Skynet had played to win. Model 101 might have been the first model of T-800 off the assembly line, but it wasn't the last, and nor was it used that much. John Connor had the experience of knowing how cybernetic infiltrators would operate. John Connor had grown up with the visage of Model 101 burned into his mind. John Connor, since 2018, had been at the head of the Resistance, and had managed to lead them to victory.

Was it fate? He didn't think so. Hoped it wasn't so. He hoped that the postponement of Judgement Day had been a net positive for the world. He'd told himself that he'd failed to stop it in 2003, that there was no greater plan of the universe to stop him from saving the lives of 3 billion human beings. He'd told himself this, because past failure meant that future successes would have to be earnt. Be fought for. That he couldn't fight a war in the certainty that he'd actually win.

"General Connor."

He gave a small salute to the men clearing out the factory. "General Connor." He was 48 years old – a grandad by the standards of this world, a young 'un for any general position back in the old, when generals were grey-haired men with uniforms showing various medals and tags. His 'uniform' was nothing but grey fatigues, body armour designed to stop plasma rather than ballistic rounds, and a shoulder patch of the United States flag that had almost completely faded. Kind of appropriate, really – no branch of the country's military could be said to really still exist in any official capacity, let alone the country itself. Instead, they were all "the Resistance." Flags didn't matter much now, especially since Skynet didn't fly one.

"What have we got?"

The captain handed him a clipboard. "Not much. We're gonna salvage the munitions, torch the tin-men."

"What type?"

"T-eight-hundreds mostly. Lots of one-oh-ones."

John blinked. "One-oh-ones?"

"Hmm." The captain nodded and took back the clipboard. "Think this was one of the first factories Skynet set up for T-800 production. Least after San Francisco. Not much came out of it though – that's why we didn't take it out before Skynet bit the bullet."

"Right, well, carry on."

 _And keep calm._ That phrase came to his mind for some reason. He wasn't sure why. That was a phrase from around eighty years ago – you couldn't keep calm in _this_ world, no matter how hard you tried.

"Hey."

He turned, and smiled, as he stood on the walkway of the factory. The smile remained as he felt Kate's hand on his shoulder.

"You should be resting."

"No rest for the wicked," John said.

She smiled. "You're not wicked."

"Course I am. That's why I'm here, while Skynet is either dead, or hiding in whatever pieces of software it can fit itself into."

"But you shouldn't _be_ here," she said. He looked at her, and the smile had faded. "You should be at Edwards."

He didn't have an answer to that. Yes, technically, he should be. Once, over a decade ago, he'd fought on the frontlines, fighting and destroying Skynet's machines, doing it all in the belief that he wouldn't die. _Couldn't_ die, because otherwise, time as he knew it would unravel. He'd started to learn that nothing could be counted on in this future, that he could die, and _would_ have died if Marcus Wright, and thousands of men and women, hadn't given their lives for him. General John Connor had fought the war from places like Crystal Peak, Edwards Airforce Base, and various other locations, none of which were close to the frontlines.

"I have to be here," he said, as he began walking along the catwalk. "The men have to see me."

"I know," Kate said, following after him. "But-"

"Besides," he said. "You're here too."

She didn't have an answer for that. Or if she did, she didn't voice it. Regardless, he kept walking. Walked past soldiers wheeling out weapons both ancient and futuristic. Past forklifts taking out T-800 models to be incinerated. Some in the Resistance wanted to reprogram them, but John wasn't having it. It was 2033, one year after the war had ended, and Skynet could only hide. Any piece of hardware that could house it had to be destroyed. That included Terminator CPUs. Even those of Model 101, T-800s and T-850s alike.

"Ugh."

It was from Kate, as they approached the rack. Line after line of cyborgs, waiting for chips to be installed. Hanging from grapples, as if chunks of meat. He looked at her.

"I hate those things."

John remained silent – yeah, Kate hated Terminators. She especially hated _this_ model. The model that had torn her life apart thirty years ago, her protection of her from the T-X notwithstanding. The model that had nearly killed her husband in 2018. The model that had tried to kill him in 2032, as Skynet had done exactly what the T-850 of that time had said. It had used John's own past against him. And if the T-850 hadn't warned him, John wondered if it would have succeeded. If, when he saw Model-101, he wouldn't have dived for cover as it began shooting, but had just stood there, like the piece of meat he was.

"You won't have to see them long," John said.

"I know, I know," she replied. "It's just…"

She sighed, and this time it was John's turn to put a hand on her shoulder. He knew, and he knew that she knew. He knew that thirty years of nearly dying together could be a bonding experience, as was bringing life into the world. Knew, and was grateful for the fact that July 4, 2032, was a date his wife had feared as much as he had. He, afraid for his own life. She, afraid for the life of a man she loved. Family was funny like that.

"Anyway," Kate said. "I'll…I'll see you outside."

John nodded, and remained in place. Listening to Kate's footsteps as she walked away, to the sound of many more footsteps filling the factory. Of his own soft breathing as he stared in the dead eyes of a machine that was one of many. A machine that, if activated, would kill him, and try to kill everyone else in this building.

"Hello Dad," he muttered.

The world was fucked. Not just biologically, what with the effects of nuclear fallout, but conceptually as well. Four years ago he'd sent Kyle Reese back to 1984 – one of three time travel missions to counter Skynet's own desperate attempts. He didn't know how the past would play out – how much would the Kyle Reese of this timeline be different from the one that had fathered him? He couldn't say, but it felt like patricide all the same. And now, staring into the eyes of a killer, he couldn't help but think how one of these machines had come back to protect him as a child. How he'd been the closest thing he'd ever had to a father, showing that the world was fucked even in 1995. How that machine had fought and bled to defend him, and willingly given its life in an effort to stave off the future. Somewhere, behind these dead, hollow eyes, was the capacity for something more. Something beyond the programming of a mere machine.

The others had been machines, he told himself. The one that had tried to kill him in 2018, striding out from the chamber as if the Devil himself had come to claim his wayward child. The one in 2032, that had been defeated, then sent back to be his protector once more. They had all been machines – every other one of these monsters who had managed to infiltrate the Resistance, and taken dozens of lives before finally being downed. He didn't know how to feel, that standing here now, looking at the visage of a machine that who'd saved him, of one who'd tried to kill him and then protected him, and one who just wanted him dead, he felt…nothing.

Maybe that made him human, he supposed. The ability to see things not as they appeared, but as they were.

"General?"

He looked at the men who had approached him.

"You alright Sir?"

"Hmm." He gestured to the T-800 rack. "Burn them. Burn them all."

"Yes Sir."

He kept walking – he wanted out of this factory. He'd been in too many factories in his life, and as bad as the world was, he could at least walk in daylight and see the sun. He kept walking, and didn't look back, as the dead eyes of his father, his murderer, and his enemy, stared at him.

Kept walking, and hoped he'd never have to see that model again.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _This was kind of inspired from how it's been outright confirmed that Arnie won't appear in any more_ Terminator _movies, that if the series does indeed get the reboot Cameron promised, Model 101 won't show up. To be honest, I'm actually okay with that, as the series has had to continually justify why the same model of Terminator keeps turning up in every movie, so, yeah. Kind of a 'book ender' for his run. Guess his saying of "I'll be back" doesn't apply in this case. ;p_


End file.
